


A Happy Announcement

by Sexyfishtalk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-21 07:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexyfishtalk/pseuds/Sexyfishtalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were many things John planned to do in Las Vegas. </p><p>Getting drunk and marrying his best friend wasn't one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

John Watson started the day off with a horrified groan. He buried his nose deeper into the pillow he was hugging and groaned again.

Never again. Never. A. Gain, would he drink.

It was Sherlock's fault. That's right, it was always Sherlock Bloody Holmes' fault. If he hadn't dragged John to this damned country in the first place, John wouldn't have been tempted. " _Come on Sherlock, it's Las Vegas! One casino trip, it won't kill you._ " John took it back. He took it  _all_  back. This hangover was clearly death not even trying for a disguise.

His pillow grumbled incoherently and burrowed it's way closer to him.

Never again. Never. A. Gain. Not one drop. Whiskey, vodka, mouthwash. It was all go- no. Wait... something... wasn't right. John's eyelids twitched in concern. Pillows weren't supposed to move. He cracked one eye open, and did the only sensible thing to do, and groaned again.

His pillow wasn't a pillow at all. It was, in fact, an overgrown child with a superiority complex. Otherwise known as Sherlock Holmes.

Shit.

 _Shit_! What happened last night? All he remembered was the bar owner they had assisted placing a pair of large, colourful and, on the house, drinks in front of them, and then... nothing.

Alright. It was fine. Clearly John was just too tired to go back to his own room, and had decided to crash in Sherlock's.

Alright. So they were both naked, but Sherlock slept in the nude plenty of times, and John wouldn't have had any pyjamas.

Alright. So there was a used condom on the floor.

That could be anyone's!

John buried his face into Sherlock's hair. This couldn't be happening. This could not be happening. What. No really. What, was in those drinks? And what about Sherlock? Had he even wanted this? 

John didn't have long to ponder these questions since his bed mate had begun to stir. It was then that John realised he was still clinging to his friend. He quickly released him and shuffled away so that there were several inches of space between them

Sherlock's eyes blinked open. He took one look at his blushing friend and groaned.

"Yeah. Same here."

"How much do you remember?"

"Honestly? Not a damn thing."

Sherlock looked surprised by this. "Really? Nothing... at all?"

John frowned. "Just us trying those free drinks. Why? What do you remember?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Absolutely nothing. I was hoping you could fill in the blanks."

John rolled his eyes.

While Sherlock was searching for any sign of their clothing, John busied himself with inspecting the room. He got so caught up in trying to discern how one room could hold so many shades of pink that he didn't notice his friend freeze in the process of picking up a shoe.

"What room is this?"

"John."

"Because it almost looks like it could be a honey-"

"John. Look at your left hand."

Well that would make anyone nervous.

"Why? What have you done to i- you've got to be kidding me." Thankfully, it wasn't missing, or the hoof John had been expecting.

It was just much, much worse.

A simple, but thick band of silver metal was wrapped around John's ring finger glinted mockingly up at him. "Please tell me this is your idea of a joke."

"I was about to ask you the same thing." Sherlock holding up his own ring adorned hand.

"Well it's not real right? We couldn't have gotten... Right?"

Sherlock glanced up from his examination of his ring. "I know in the past I've commented on your power of observation, but even you aren't that slow. Look at the rings, look at the room, look at... us."

John buried his face in his hands. "So that's it then? We're... you know..."

"Married. We're married, John. Get used to the word now. We'll be hearing it a lot in the next couple of weeks."

John's head snapped up. "No! No I won't. Because this- this wedding... thing is not going past the borders of this town. Understand? No one finds out about this."

"John-"

"It's fine. It'll be fine, really. They have drop in weddings, they're bound to have drop in divorces."

* * *

There was a flurry of commotion behind the front desk as Sherlock and John stepped off the lift. By the time they reached it, the two young women working there were staring at them with large, sadistic grins. "Good morning to the happy couple."

John glowered at them. "Hilarious. Where do we go to get this undone?"

The girls exchanged a look. "A courtroom." They said in unison.

"You could try a good divorce attorney," The elder of the two added, "But, they're always so tied up around here. It'll be a least a week till you'll be able to get an appointment."

John rubbed at his still throbbing forehead. "Our plane leaves tonight."

"Then wait till you're home and try your luck there. And I assume you'll be want to check out. How would you like to pay for your rooms?"

The receptionists were saved from being tackled by the quick intervention of Sherlock, and by the arrival of a dark haired valet.

"Sorry," He apologized as he stepped up to the front desk, "Amy, I need the room number for a Doctor and Mr. Watson-Holmes. Some guy in a black car wants to talk to them." The valet lowered his voice, "I think they may be part of the mafia."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. A meeting with his brother was the last thing either of them wanted, but it seemed they had no choice. "Come on, John."

Out in the parking lot a conspicuous black car waited with its back door open as Sherlock and John exited the hotel's main doors. In it, Mycroft Holmes and his ever present assistant waited for them. "And how are we feeling today?" Mycroft smirked. Neither of the two men made a move to reply. "I hope you'll take this as a lesson in why alcohol is bad."

"Don't patronize us, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped, "How did you find out?"

Mycroft's smile became that much more patronizing, "You called me." He replied, "I have the recording here, would you like to hear it? It's really very amusing." He nodded to his assistant who pressed a series of keys on her phone until Sherlock's recorded giggling filled the small space.

"Mycake!" John could be heard laughing hysterically in the background. "My! Guess what? I'm married! That's right, Mycroft. I got married before you! Now who's the disappointment?"

Still in the background, drunk John interrupted the man, "Come on gorgeous! It's our bloody wedding night! Hang up the phone and get you fine arse in here!"

Sober John buried his face in his hands. "Can we turn this off, please?"

Mycroft gave him a condescending smile. When Anthea shut off the recording, Mycroft's smile widened. "Mummy of course wants to meet with you both. She's rather insistent you have a proper ceremony."

John's head popped back up. He gaped at the man in shock. "You told your  _mother_?"

Mycroft chuckled."No. I just wasn't the only person Sherlock called."

John rubbed his temples. "Undo this."

Mycroft frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"You, with all your power, undo this."

"I'm not a lawyer, John. I can't snap my fingers and undo anything."

"Then why are you here!" John shouted.

"Mostly to gloat."Mycroft replied. "I'm surprised you want me to intervene at all, seeing as your both still wearing the rings."

John yanked the silver metal off his finger and tossed it away from him.

Only one person in the car noticed the way Sherlock's eyes followed the ring's trajectory. "I've arranged for us to be taken back to England, via my private jet. Please don't feel obliged to thank me for my kindness-"

"We weren't going to." Sherlock grumbled.

"-We can get the proper appointments and paperwork in motion as soon as we've landed."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

Back in England, John and Sherlock were dragging themselves up the stairs to their flat. Both were completely drained and desperate for a cup of tea. The door of 221A opened to reveal Mrs. Hudson with a large bag of garbage. "Oh hello boys! How was the trip?" John glared ahead and continued walking. "Oh dear, have you two been fighting again?"

Sherlock sighed. "No Mrs. Hudson, for once that isn't it."

"Bad trip?" She asked with sympathy. John let out a bark-like laugh.

"You could say that." He muttered then disappeared inside the flat.

Sherlock frowned and looked away. "We caught the criminal, and saved the day. I'm sure John's blog will have quite the update soon." Even if some key events were omitted. "Good evening Mrs. Hudson, don't forget to properly dispose of your herbal soothers." Sherlock marched up the rest of the way to find John already fussing about with two half made cups of tea. "So.." Sherlock ventured. "Are we going to talk about what happened?"

John let out a deep sigh. "What's there to talk about Sherlock? We got drunk and we slept together. It happens."

"And got married."

"Yeah that too." John muttered. He handed Sherlock his cup and they made their way out to the living room together. John sat in his chair, and Sherlock sat in his. For a while the two men simply sat in silence, sipping tea and blatantly ignoring the elephant in the room.

"Any plans for the evening?"

John chuckled. "Another cup of tea and a long na- oh."

"What is it?"

"I promised Juliet, I'd take her for dinner when we got back."

Juliet Ryans, John's newest girlfriend. They'd been on seven dates. Both Sherlock and John were calling it his most successful relationship in years. "Can't you just cancel?" Sherlock asked with a frown. "She'll understand if you're tired." Though Sherlock didn't really believe that. This new girl was about as bright as a burned out light bulb and as shallow as an evaporated puddle.

"Yeah I can, but it's not just that is it?" John sighed. "How exactly am I supposed to explain, you know," He mad a gesturing hand movement between them, "Us?"

"Why explain at all? Like you said, we were drunk and had sex. It happens."

"And got married."

"Yes, and she doesn't need to know that. Will what happened change your relationship?"

"I don't want to lie to her, Sherlock."

Sherlock made a noise of frustration. "It's not a lie! It was one drunken night that neither of us even remember, and a mistake that will soon be fixed!"

"Alright! Why are you shouting?"

Sherlock took a deep breath. He hadn't meant to shout.

"Sherlock, you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, John. Go enjoy your date, or cancel and go to bed. You look ready to keel over." Sherlock stood up and quietly slunk away, leaving behind a very confused friend.

In the end, John went on the date. Juliet was beautiful in John's opinion. Long brown hair, light green eyes, and a smile that could charm the pants off of anyone she chose. Sure the conversation was a bit less stimulating than he'd hope for at times, but she meant well and they did have fun together. "...And so Stacey said I should try the red dress, and I did and guess what?"

"It looked better than the blue dress."

"Yes! And so that's why I'm wearing a red dress instead of a blue one."

"Well I think you look beautiful in whatever colour you wear." John smiled. Juliet smiled shyly back at him. They ate in silence for a few minutes. John smiled at her, but his mind had begun to drift back to the events that happened in Vegas. Did it count as cheating if neither party was actually attracted to their spouse?

"John?" 

John gave his head a shake, and brought himself back to the present. "Sorry?"

"I asked if you wanted to go back to my place tonight." She smiled at his silliness.

"Oh. Umm..."

Juliet's smile began to fall. "It's alright, if you don't want to. You're probably tired after your trip."

John felt a twinge of guilt for the woman. He quickly took a hold of her hand with a soft smile. "No, I would love to go to your place tonight." His date's face quickly brightened up, much to the relief of John. Together the two left restaurant and took a cab to Juliet's flat.

* * *

Across town, very different plans were being made. Four people sat around a table made to sit six. At the head of the table sat a blonde but balding man named Isaac White.   Beside him sat Lincoln Krauss, a high-ranking criminal known to dabble in a little of every form of illegal activity there was. The final two people at the table were Ridley Zayne and Jocelyn Barlow. The four of them made up the remaining inner circle of a well known and dangerous criminal gang called, 'The Red Scorpions.'

From the outside the headquarters of the Scorpions was a decrepit and disused office building, the type people would walk by and wonder why it hadn't been torn down. Inside, however, the building was teeming with many different branches of criminal activity each with it's own floor. The Scorpions had always been a smart and efficient organization, but after a recent event only a few weeks prior to the meeting, there had been a serious foul-up that had caused the whole structure to have to be reorganized and all four of the remaining bosses to be called in. 

Isaac White surveyed the others over his folded hand. He leaned back in his chair and let out a quiet sigh. "So which one of you gets to tell me why we are now down two major players with one of them in a body bag?"

Jocelyn Barow glared at the empty seat beside her. Until very recently, Jocelyn had been a member of a dual-assassin team with he twin brother Joshua. They had joined the Scorpions as a means of protection, but instead Joshua had gotten himself thrown in jail and his partner killed. "It wasn't really his fault."

"Wasn't really whose fault, Barlow?"

"My brother's." She snapped. "Giles set him up."

"Mr. Giles!" Isaac laughed. "He seems to have faired worse than your brother. Being dead and all."

"It's true." Jocelyn scowled, her dark eyes flashing. "Joshua would never have gotten caught otherwise, he's a professional."

Isaac frowned with disinterest. "And what do either of you have to say about the events?"

Ridley Zayne sat up straighter. The 6'4 genius had been on surveillance the night the crime had gone wrong. He had seen the entire event leading up to Giles's death. Only he knew who the real threat to their company was. "John Watson," He said in his low, gruff voice, "Shot and killed Giles when he took a hostage following a high-speed chase on foot. A preliminary check titles him officially as a doctor with at least ten years of army experience, but now he lives and works with a local private investigator who goes by Sherlock Holmes."

Lincoln Krauss made a disgruntled noise. "Is something the matter, Krauss?" Isaac asked. The other two turned to face the skinny man where he was sitting silently.

"The detective," He muttered, "He took down that fraud case I had running in Nevada for _three years_ he did. And he was responsible for the jewellery heist being shut down as well."

Isaac looked thoughtful. He turned his attention back to the larger man with a quirk of his eyebrow. "They both sound like they could cause us some trouble. So tell me, Zayne, who do you think is the bigger threat? Who are we going after?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Sherlock waited till he was certain John was gone before he padded his back into the living room. He sat down at his chemistry set and began to busy himself with his experiments and certainly not thinking about John on his date. He'd been working for close to an hour when the sound of footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs. There was a lighter third tap that could have indicated a cane, but the sound was too... smug for that. "What do you want, Mycroft?"

The elder Holmes brother stepped into the flat with a twirl of his umbrella. "I came to see how you were doing after I spied John leaving."

"How kind of you. Now leave."

Mycroft meandered over to the table and sat down. "That'll work better if you use less bromine."

"Mycroft..."

"Why haven't you told John how you feel?"

Sherlock slammed his experiment down, ignoring the hiss of the solution hitting the table, and stormed off to the couch. Mycroft followed behind him slowly. "Sherlock stop being a child." He sighed at his younger brother's back.

"Why do you care?"

"Because you're my brother, and seeing you upset makes me upset. And for whatever reason, it seems that being with John is what makes you happy."

"Just leave it, Mycroft."

"You're married for goodness sake," Mycroft muttered, then crossed his arms, "Doesn't he at least deserve to know his husband is in love with him?" Sherlock didn't reply and Mycroft sighed. He reached into his pocket and placed something small on the table. "At least consider telling him, before you lose John forever." Mycroft gave his brother one last look before he left the flat.

Sherlock rolled over. On the table sat a small velvet box. Sherlock didn't need to open it to know it contained John's discarded wedding ring.

* * *

 

John arrived back at the flat late the next morning. Inside, he found Sherlock with his head bent over a microscope in the exact position John had left him in. "Did you sleep?"

"Nope." Sherlock replied. "Got sidetracked. How was your evening? Spare the details."

John chuckled. "Why, are you jealous?" The chuckled response came a second too slow, John chose to ignore it. 

Shortly after that, the tired doctor left the main area and went up to his room for a long and overdue nap. When he awoke it was close to six at night. John went downstairs to find the kitchen and living room empty. On the table was a not for him from Sherlock.

_Lestrade texted while you were asleep. We have a case, meet me at the Yard when you wake up. SH_

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's assumption that he would just go running to the yard when instructed, then went to grab his coat.

The officer behind the desk handed him a visitors pass with barely a blink of his eye when John arrived. He went through the familiar corridors towards Lestrade's office where Sherlock could be seen pacing back and forth while the other officers stared on, skeptically.

"Sherlock, I really think you're over thinking this one." Lestrade piped up while John silently took his place beside the DI. "The mother clearly took the baby."

Sherlock waved him away. "No, there's more to it than that! Think of how distressed she was. That woman's baby was stolen from her."

"Well obviously she's putting on an act-"

"Then somebody give her an Oscar!"

"What's going on?" John asked quietly. Sherlock turned away, his eyes fell shut as he slipped into his mind palace. 

"Man was found stabbed multiple times in his kitchen. He was a known domestic abuser, and his son is gone without a trace. Mum's the only lead we've got."

"Well it would make sense, if he was an abuser couldn't you work some kind of defence plea for her?"

"No! No, John!" Sherlock snapped his eyes open. "Even if she had killed her husband, she's lied and concealed the whereabouts of her child. We're missing some detail. Who else would have had access to the nursery?"

"No one. Just the father and mother."

Sherlock turned his attention fully onto John and narrowed his eyes. "No.. oh! Yes!" Sherlock smiled. "She said it herself, you heard her. 'My mother visited yesterday.'"

"Yeah, but the grandmother was cleared."

"By you. Give me three minutes with her and we'll have little Nancy back with her mother and ready to begin a new life."

"And if you're wrong?" Lestrade argued.

"Then you'll have the great pleasure of saying I told you so."

*

Twenty minutes later Sherlock and John were standing outside the child's hidden location with the grandmother in custody. Sherlock laughed and punched the air when they carried the three year old out to her sobbing mother. "Oh John that was too easy. I'm ready for anything. Give me any challenge I can do it!"

"Have you spoken to Mycroft about the divorce papers?"

Sherlock deflated a bit. "Maybe not that challenge."

John raised an eyebrow at him. "You can't convince me that Mycroft won't at least have some form of info about the papers yet. We're probably not even married anymore with how fast your brother can get things done."

Sherlock wasn't as sure as his friend. "I was going to speak with him, but then I started thinking... what if we just.. stayed married?"

" _Stay married_?"

Sherlock bit his lip, he knew no matter how much he'd wanted it his friend was not going to accept the proposal, at least not without a fight. "Why not? We already live together, and think of the... tax benefits."

"The _tax benefits_?"

Sherlock sighed. "You really need to stop doing that."

"What if I decide I want to get married?" John crossed his arms, grumpily.

"Then you'll have to tell them you're already taken. Besides we both know that isn't going to happen anytime soon. You and Juliet aren't going to last the month."

John's already clouded over expression turned stormy. He straightened his posture and began to march away with Sherlock hot on his heels. "John, John! Why won't you even at least consider it?"

"Because I don't want to be married to you!"

"Why not?"

John made a noise of disbelief. "Well for one thing you're a man!"

"Oh I that's right. I forgot. You want a white picket future with the perfect little wife and the perfect two point four children playing fetch in the yard with the family _pet_." Came Sherlock's sardonic reply.

"Yeah, that is what I want, Sherlock." John snapped back. "What did you think I wanted? You? Come on, who'd want you?" 

John's jaw snapped shut. He hadn't meant that. Not like that, but the damage was already done. Before John could back track in any way, Sherlock's carefully built defences went crumbling down. The raw hurt emotion left behind made John's chest tighten with guilt. "Sherlock. I didn't mean- Sherlock? Where are you going?"

Sherlock didn't turn back or give any answer to the doctor's inquiries, and John knew better than to follow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good poutine, how long has it been since I updated this story? Anywho, here's a new chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

Mycroft Holmes sighed. He was standing in the hallway outside his personal, private office located in the Diogenes Club. He could see all the signs that no one else seemed to see. There had been an intruder. More security would have to be fired once he dealt with the nuisance that awaited him. Upon entering the office, Mycroft was not at all surprised when Sherlock looked up at him from his leather desk chair. "How did you get in?" The politician sighed. Non-club members were not supposed to enter the club without the endorsement of a member and the strict approbation of several club directors, yet time and time again people seemed to wander in off the streets. It was a headache to deal with and Mycroft was beginning to fear for his membership.

His brother stared up at him, a calm mask of boredom hid the turmoil of emotions that were as clear as day to Mycroft. "I came through the front door." Sherlock replied as if it were obvious. His voice gave away just as much as his face did. "I was just very very quiet."

Mycroft had a good idea to what was upsetting his brother, but to why he had come to Mycroft with his problems was simply a waste of both their times. He let out two forced and dry laughs while Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Hilarious." He said without humour. "Leave."

"Not until after you sign these." Sherlock tossed a folder down in front of his brother. It was thick, confidential, and as Mycroft perused; he was unsurprised to find they were divorce papers. All the proper spaces had already been filled by Sherlock. With a smirk, Mycroft met his brother's eyes. "Trouble in paradise?"

It was as if someone had pricked a balloon with a needle the way Sherlock deflated so quickly into his chair. He let out a small sigh as he gave his brother a half-hearted glare. "Mycroft-"

"Anyways, I can't do anything with these." Mycroft smoothly cut him off. He placed the folder back on his desk, but Sherlock made no move to reclaim them.

"Why not?" He asked, confusion now threatening to tinge his default tone of boredom. This visit was supposed to a simple meeting. He hadn't expected it to last more than ten minutes and he certainly hadn't expected his brother to deny his request.

"Well for one thing, I really am not lawyer, like I told my dear brother-in-law, but mostly because John has not yet signed it. There are laws about this sort of thing, Sherlock, laws I must obey." Sherlock let out a derisive snort and this time it was Mycroft who rolled his eyes. It was an old argument between the brothers. Sherlock's disbelief towards Mycroft's capabilities could be just as tiresome as his intrusive behaviour, other times it came in handy. This was not one of those times. "Sherlock despite what you seem to believe, I am not omniscient. Even if I could do anything, I can't without his signature. Now, are we through with this charade? Might we now discuss why you're actually here?"

His brother had crossed his arms like a child on the verge of a tantrum when his brother told him no, but the question had caused him to peek up through his curly hair and blink guiltily at the elder. "I have nothing to discuss, Mycroft." Sherlock stood, and began pacing the room. His arms were still crossed around him, but now the gesture seemed to protect Sherlock more than showcase his dislike for not getting his way.

Mycroft seated himself in the vacated chair. He had no meetings for the next few hours and he was willing to wait for as long as it took for Sherlock to talk to him like an adult. "I thought you were going to talk to John."

At first Sherlock said nothing, only continued his circuit of the office. Mycroft knew there was an inner dispute happening inside Sherlock's mind and he would get no answer until it was over. He peered at some neglected file work and wondered how much he could get done while he waited. He was halfway through his second law amendment when at last Sherlock spoke up. "I did. John finally told me how he really feels about me." There was such emotion in his voice that Mycroft was reminded exactly why he avoided the messy affair of romance all together. "Now sign the damn papers, or send them to John. Do something," Sherlock continued, "Or will I have to do everything?"

Mycroft surveyed his brother over his steepled fingers. "I can't help you."

Sherlock's pacing came to an end. "Why?"He asked in a voice that had lost all of its edge just as quickly as he had found it.

Mycroft sighed. "Because if I allow you to ruin the one good relationship you have ever managed to keep, I'd be doing a terrible job as your brother."

"You're already doing a terrible job as my brother."

"Then allow me to use this opportunity to make up for that error. Sit down with John. Really talk to him. Not whatever you think passes for it but an actual real conversation where you discuss your... feelings." He said the final word as if it were a personal affront to him. Mycroft might have had no interest in those sort of matters himself, but if it kept Sherlock out of his office and away from more dangerous hobbies, then he was willing to give all the advice he was able to.

The response, however, only made Sherlock's glare darken. He stepped forwards until he was standing directly in front of his brother's desk with his arms still crossed. His defensive posture was more obvious than before and his eyes refused to meet Mycroft's. "Even if I spoke with John, he doesn't want me. He isn't even gay."

Mycroft looked at his brother with wonder. What was it like to be a selective genius? "So I've been told, multiple times. Don't tell me you actually believe that?" When Sherlock offered no reply, Mycroft groaned, "Oh Brother, what are these emotions doing to you if you can't even see what _Mrs. Hudson_ can see? You saw it once, way back in the beginning. I know you did."  Sherlock turned away from Mycroft. He knew what his brother was hinting at, but John had made his decision. There was too much at stake for opening himself up like that. Heartbreak didn't suit him, and they both knew it. "Talk to John." Mycroft said again. His voice was softer than before as if he knew just what sort of thoughts Sherlock was entertaining. "I promise you it won't be as terrible as you believe." Mycroft could still see the uncertainty in his brother's eyes. "John isn't a fool or he'd have left you ages ago." He grabbed his pen and quickly found where he had left off in his work. "You'll be doing yourself a favour. That man cares deeply for you. Now, get out of my office. There will be a car waiting for you outside."

Sherlock frowned at his brother's blunt dismissal but accepted it all the same. His brother's argument was sound. Sherlock had plenty to think about during the short walk back through the club.

As promised, when he got outside, there was a sleek black car waiting to take him home. "I'm sure my brother has given you instructions to take me straight to my doorstep, but there's somewhere I'd like to stop off at first." He said to the driver as he slid into the back seat. The driver gave a curt nod and the car pulled away from the curb. 

*

When Sherlock finally returned to the flat, the nervous air surrounding him was nearly tangible. In one hand, he held the complete Bond movie collection and in his other was a hastily bought bouquet of flowers. Sherlock could never understand the need to purchase an overpriced bundle of plants that would die within a week just to express an emotion, but it was a romantic gesture and John enjoyed ridiculous things like that. So Sherlock had bought the movies and the flowers and now he planned to tell John exactly how he felt about his friend. Most likely it would end with his nose bleeding and John never speaking to him again, but at least Sherlock would know and the weight of his secret would finally be lifted from his shoulders.

The flat was dark and silent, but a creak from upstairs reassured Sherlock that John was waiting for him. Probably basting in his own guilt and not planning on letting Sherlock get in a single word until he'd thoroughly apologized for what he had said. Sherlock saw no point in interrupting John until he had gotten enough apologies out to satisfy them both. Tightening his grip on his purchases, Sherlock ascended the stairs and entered the flat. 

It was completely dark inside, and there was no sign of the other man in the main room. "John?" He called out. It was all he managed before there was a sharp pain on the back of his neck and the world went black.


	5. Chapter 5

Midday found Molly Hooper elbow deep in her work. She had been alone in the morgue with no one to keep talk to but her patients when the doors to the morgue swung open. They were pushed in by John, who entered with a smile for the pathologist which Molly easily returned. "Hello John," She greeted then glanced hopefully over his shoulder for his tall companion, "I wasn't expecting to see you today."

John sighed, already it was obvious he wasn't going to find what or rather who he was searching for. "Hi Molly. I was just looking for Sherlock actually." He sent a hopeful look even though he knew it was a futile effort, "We had a bit of an... argument and now he's not answering his phone." John felt terrible for the things he'd said. He had been out of line and he knew it. Sherlock, for the first might have actually been admitting to feelings for John, before John himself had so harshly shut him down. "I'm guessing he's not here."

"Oh." Molly frowned. Her disappointment was all too obvious. "No, I haven't seen him at all today. You said you had an argument?" It wasn't that it was entirely unusual for the two men to argue, but normally it was John who stormed out. Molly was curious to what was different this time. What fight could have been so bad that Sherlock would leave? Nothing ever seemed to bother the detective. "Was it about your new case?" Molly asked curiously. "How did that go by the way? You haven't updated your blog yet."

John was saved from answering the awkward question when his phone began to ring. He snatched it out of his pocket with a regretful glance at his friend. "Sorry, Molly, I should take this." He excused himself from the morgue then breathed a sigh of relief. Usually when Mycroft phoned him, John would let it go to voice-mail and then purposely forget to return the call, but for once the elder Holmes' timing was impeccable. He might even serve to be useful for once and have some answers. "Where is he, Mycroft?" John answered, not bothering to waste time on pleasantries. 

The first thing he heard was a bark of laughter, "Oh, so now you care?" Mycroft replied, venom was detectable in every word. "Tell me. John, why should I tell you anything? Before you, my brother was a brilliant mind. Now he wastes his time with fantasies derived from those pesky feelings and emotions."

John rolled his eyes. He could not believe what Mycroft was accusing him of. "I didn't ruin him by teaching him how to feel."

"You did."

"Just because you refuse to admit you have a heart doesn't mean Sherlock is the same." John started down the hall before he started shouting. Why Mycroft acted the way he did was beyond John, but to say his brother was broken for being different was just as out of line as anything John had said that day.

"No, you're right, and that's exactly the problem." Something in his voice made John realize, Mycroft was actually angry. "My brother is widely different from me, John. He's more sensitive and less in-tune with his emotions than I. It's how he always was even before you ever showed up. Now as I understand, Sherlock finally decided to be honest with himself and with you and you turned him down as cruelly as you could possibly manage." 

John bit down on his cheek as another wave of guilt hit him. He had fucked it all up. "Nothing to say for yourself, Dr Watson?" Mycroft continued, "No? We'll then let me make something clear to you if it isn't already. I worry about my brother as you are well aware, anyone who hurts him has me to answer to. Up until this unfortunate incident, my brother's and your relationship has been an acceptable one. I had hoped his little crush would disappear with time, but it hasn't. Which means  it's time you come to your senses and do something about it."

Finally, John gave up on keeping his temper in check. "Yeah, look it's nice that you care and all, but I don't have feelings for your brother. I don't like men and I never-"

"Stop _lying_ to yourself, John.""There's only one way this can end and that is in heartache, for you both if you don't accept that whether or not you, ' _like men_ ,'  your feelings for my brother have never been ones of platonic." With a click of Mycroft's phone, the conversation was over.

Lips pursed, John glared down at his phone. He stood outside the elevator in the hallway leading to the morgue. Why could people understand? He was not gay. His sister was gay and he was the straight sibling. It was as simple as that. Yes, he was fond of Sherlock but that didn't mean he was in love with him. Why was it so hard for people to believe that two people who happened to be single were just friends? Why did there have to be a secret love affair between them? 

Grumbling quietly, John pocketed his phone and slammed his finger against the button for the lift. Despite Mycroft's interference, John was still going to apologize to his friend. They were going to have to address precarious their friendship, he knew. Things couldn't stay the same, no matter how much he wished they could. Sherlock telling him about his feelings had changed everything. John had to distance himself. He reached the hospital's main floor and set off out the doors onto the street. He would go home to Baker Street and wait for Sherlock to come home. Then they would talk.

It was getting dark by the time John reached 221b. No lights were on in the flat. Sherlock still wasn't back, or else he was skulking in the darkness. From what John knew of the man, it wasn't entirely out of the possibility. John ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. Why couldn't he have a normal flatshare? One where the renters never interacted beyond notes asking the other to buy toilet paper. He climbed the stairs and went inside the flat. He was surprised to find the door already unlocked. "Sherlock?" Maybe his friend really was lurking in the shadows. 

The living room was in the same messy state it had been when they left and there was no sign of Sherlock in his bedroom. It was in the kitchen that John found things out of place. A bouquet of flowers laid wilting on the floor. John frowned. He crouched to examine the odd sight, then notice a bag of DVD's discarded nearby. "Sherlock?" John called again but still received no answer. Further investigation of the kitchen turned up Sherlock's mobile half hidden beneath the table and red. Spots of red dotted the floor and led back out the main door. 

Something was wrong. John fumbled for his own phone. He quickly re-dialled Mycroft who picked up on the second ring. "Something's happened."

*

Sherlock groaned back into consciousness. His head was throbbing worse than it had after his wedding night. It was irritating to find his most useful of his senses was rendered moot in the total blackness that enveloped him. Still, the loss of his sight didn't impede him from getting a fairly decent picture of his current situation.

His arms were behind his back, held in place with a simple pair of handcuffs. No other restraints were being used to subdue him, so he'd been kidnapped by amateur. The room he was in was small, he could feel three of the walls anyway he turned, and if Sherlock pushed out with his foot he could feel a wooden door barricade. A closet then. Handcuffed, and in a closet.

Brilliant.

Outside, he could hear people talking. His kidnappers were directly outside the room. Light seeping under the door caught Sherlock's attention. Quietly as he could, he moved himself forward until Sherlock's face was flat on the ground and he could peer out into the room beyond his closet. The room was sparsely furnished, the only furniture being a few straight back chairs and a rickety table around which two of the room's three occupants sat. 

The three were of various ages, the youngest looked younger than Sherlock. He also seemed nervous, pacing around the room like a trapped animal. His companions looked less worried, or possibly just too caught up with their game of cards to care. "We're in over our heads this time." The young man mumbled in a thick south London accent. He ran a hand through greasy hair, unaware that neither of his companions were listening. "We shouldn't have taken this job. We're gonna get caught."

One of the older men, the leader possibly, sighed and set his cards down. "It's a simple pick up job, Mick. We get the boy, keep him secure, and in the morning he's out of our hands and we get our pay." The man watched his partner through eyes clouded with age before picking up his cards. "Now sit down and stop fidgeting. You're making me nervous." Reluctantly, Mick listened to his partner's order and dropped into an empty chair. The room fell silent. It didn't seem like he would gather anything else from them, so Sherlock pulled himself back off the floor and leaned back against the closest's wall. Sherlock hadn't learned much from the men, except one thing of importance. If he was going to escape, it would have to be that night.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued...


End file.
